


Inquisition

by ChromeHoplite, gxlden



Series: Sebaciel Dialogue Prompts [6]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Clairvoyant!Ciel, Exorcisms, Games, Gore, Horror AU, M/M, demon!Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/pseuds/gxlden
Summary: Bored and hungry, a dark stranger stumbles into the carnival tent of clairvoyant, Ciel Phantomhive with an interesting proposition. Only one of them walks out.





	Inquisition

**Author's Note:**

> "Those who play with the Devil's toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword." - Buckminster Fuller
> 
> For Dialogue Prompt: “There is evil fuckery afoot here.”

Ciel had heard that Midwest summers were harsh, but he had not been expecting this. The sun bore down relentlessly upon his lot, making it a veritable oven under the white canvas of his fortune teller’s tent, and the humidity was so thick he could taste it hanging in the air. Sweat dripped down his temples and his back, causing the gaudy linen garb to cling to his skin. 

He wiped his hand across his brow and took a drink from his now tepid water bottle as he waited for a customer to wander in. All around him, he could hear the familiar sounds of the ragtag traveling carnival and the people he now called his family — there was the ringing of gunshots as Mey-Rin, the Sharpshooter from Sin City, shot quarters from a hundred yards out with a B.B. gun; there was thunderous applause as their strongman Finny heaved a small John Deere tractor up over his head; _oohs_ and squealed _ahhs_ came from the tent to Ciel’s left as their snake charmer let boas and vipers wind their way around his limbs. He cracked his knuckles and sat up straighter when he noticed a tall shadow lurking outside of his tent. 

“Come on in, my child,” he called, “fate surely has brought you to my doorstep.” 

Sebastian ducked his head as he walked into the sweltering heat of the tent; it was a good thirteen degrees hotter in there than outside, but he was unaffected in his dark three-piece suit. Heat had little to no effect on his kind. 

No, that was a lie. The warmth within the fortune teller’s workplace intensified the scent of cheap patchouli incense mixed with sweat and something sweet; taken together, they made his mouth water, reminding him he was still hungry, still unsatisfied.

He’d left a trail of empty corpses along the carnival grounds, tucked away so they wouldn't be found: a woman who mistreated her tiger; a man who sold a variety of long pipes from the orient; a sad, pretty tightrope walker and a fencer dressed in a white garb and matching turban. With each step closer towards his destination, the carnival fell quieter and _less lively_.

This one’s delicious scent had called to him and now that he was face to face with the owner of such an enticing aroma, he couldn't help but want to play with his food first. 

“Good afternoon,” he greeted him in a low, sultry voice, taking a seat before the boy at the circular, draped table with its fake crystal ball between them. 

Immediately, Ciel set to assessing and memorizing all the details he could about the strange man who entered his tent -- who the hell wore a suit to a carnival, he thought. It was expensive, made of fine wool and obviously tailored to fit the man’s statuesque physique, but even under the dark waistcoat and two-buttoned jacket, the man displayed no effects of having been out in the sun and sweltering heat. There was no sweat at his temples, no redness to his cheeks; there was barely a spot of dust or dirt on his pant legs or shoes. 

As the man took his seat across from Ciel, the young fortune teller’s mind was buzzing, humming as he analyzed and planned his next move. Everything about this man, from the cut and state of his suit to the way he walked and sat with impeccable posture and a refined air of dignity, intrigued Ciel. Clearly, this man did not belong here, and Ciel found himself eager to discover what it was that brought him to the Funtom Co. Carnival, and more specifically, into the confines of his stuffy tent. 

Ciel greeted him with fake kindness, “Welcome. How can I service you today? It is clear that your mind is clouded with concern… some distress over a business proposition,” he guessed, wondering why else a man would be dressed so professionally in a place like this. They had several artists and some crackerjack talent, it wasn’t unreasonable to think the man was out looking to make a contract with one of them for some larger conglomerate or advertising firm. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. “Can I offer you some spiritual guidance? A prognosis or a prediction, perhaps?”

“Not _distress_ , per se,” the devil answered, his voice like ice, cold and hard, contrasting sharply with the tent’s oppressive heat, “more like, discontent.” He crossed his long legs under the table, pushing the fortune teller’s feet aside to make room for his own. He leaned forward, elbows resting atop the purple velvet cloth, fingers steepled and examined his reflection in the crystal ball. Bored. He looked positively apathetic. The others hadn’t been enough of a challenge. “You see, Ciel -- may I call you Ciel?” He smirked and rested his chin coquettishly on his folded hands. “You happen to be in possession of something I want very much. Would you care to make a prediction about what that might be?” 

A cold tingle ran down Ciel’s spine, each vertebra reacting to the chill and the ice in the man’s voice. Hairs on his neck and arms stood on end in warning as Ciel pulled his feet and hands in towards himself, away from the mysterious patron seated comfortably across from him. 

“There is evil fuckery afoot here,” he muttered, his posture turning positively defensive. Louder, he said, “I don’t believe I told you my name,” though he did so with an accusatory glance and unmistakable caution. Only then did he realize how foolish it could have been inviting this man into his tent. While Ciel’s talents for clairvoyance were mostly bunk now, he did believe in magic and the macabre; there were things, creatures and beings that humans did not fully understand, with powers and abilities they were reluctant to believe… Witches and vampires did not exist only in fantasies, and he knew it. Everything about this handsome figure now told him to be careful. “I’m not interested in dealing with someone who hasn’t even bothered to introduce themselves…” 

The devil smiled; his gash of a mouth stretched out much wider than what was normal for any human, revealing two rows of perfectly pointed teeth, top _and_ bottom, one behind the other. “That’s it!” he said slapping his palm down hard onto the table, the corners of his mouth curling with glee, “That’s the game we’ll play! Tell me pretty, are you familiar with the tale of Rumpelstiltskin?” 

Frightened by the sudden inhuman guise before him, Ciel shot up from the table, goosebumps forming along all his extremities. The chair he was sitting in toppled onto the trampled grass in his tent and Ciel nearly tripped over it as he shook his head and said to himself, “What the fuck?” He gripped the gaudy clothes around him, his body wracked with cold, inexplicable fear. It was a self-preserving instinct and deep down Ciel knew he should trust it. 

 

“It’s been quite a few years, but I think I remember the story,” he said, self-preservation be damned. “What -- you want me to guess your name?”

The demon licked his front teeth which extended into serrated fangs before the clairvoyant’s very eyes. “First, you’re going to sit down,” he told the boy, as a shadow slithered across the tent, coiling itself around the toppled chair to straighten it up. It was thrust behind his prey’s knees, forcing his bottom onto the rickety wooden surface and brought forward so that his gaudily-glad torso was flush with the table. A thick, dusky haze crawled its way up Ciel’s foot to his ankles and knees, wrapped around his fingers and arms, clinging to him as if it was glue, keeping him in place and restricting his movement until only his neck and head were free.

“There, I can’t have you running off; I’ll give chase, my instincts will kick in and we wouldn’t be able to have our little game,” the demon told him with a disinterested air, though he was anything but. He could tell this one was different; this one was more observant, had his wits about him, might actually prove to be a worthy adversary. “Now then, as you recall the story and the gist of it, some guidelines… You will be allotted _three_ guesses,” he said holding up three gloved fingers, “and to tip the odds in your favour, I will allow you to ask _two_ questions to serve as hints. You have one hour to give me your final answer; should you lose or forfeit the game… I will have you, but not the way I did your companions. With you, I’ll take my time, _Ciel_.” 

A large, loud bass drum had replaced the space in Ciel’s chest where his heart should be beating; it rang heavily in his ears, and he could feel his frail chest shaking with each note. The black shadows crawling along his skin made him sneer and his fingers twitched as if needing to scratch an itch. 

This was no illusion, no sleight of hand. No mirrors, though the smoke filling the tent had a very real presence. The incense on the table was snuffed out and all the noise from outside the canvas walls was sealed off, muffled by the sheer power of the wholly inhuman creature seated before Ciel. He swallowed nervously, but steeled his resolve. 

“I don’t plan on giving up,” he said, setting his features into one of determination, challenging the smug expression on the apparition’s face. Ciel was way out of his league here and it was painfully obvious. This was a real monster, a magical being with forces under its control that Ciel couldn’t begin to understand with his cheap “clairvoyance.” But he’d surely wind up dead, or worse, if he admitted that, so he did the next best thing, something he happened to be rather good at, and faked it. 

“And I hate to lose,” he smirked. “So tell me, what’s in it for me when I win?” 

“Oh, walking away with your soul intact, not torn from your masticated carcass isn’t enough? You value something _more_ than your own life?” the demon simpered and a menacing chuckle echoed in the tent, bouncing off the canvas walls, making it seem as though a choir of devils were mocking the cocky mortal. “Go on then, tell me what it is you want in return, little one.” 

“I value a fair game,” Ciel huffed, “I’ve agreed to your rules, but not the rewards. It doesn’t seem right that if I win I just walk away with what I started with.” The smoky tendrils kept his limbs in place, so he could only tilt his head and glare at the creature with an expression he hoped was haughty, unable to cross his arms across his chest like he wanted, and he was prickled when the creature merely laughed in his face. “I want real clairvoyance,” he said, “but I don’t know if you can give it to me. Clearly you aren’t human, but if you’re no more than some conjured golem, or something under someone else’s control, that may be a bit beyond your abilities, and I shouldn’t waste my time with this.” 

The devil couldn’t help the reflexive widening of his crimson eyes, pleasantly surprised as the human took his time carefully considering the possibilities of demonic nature, his skillset and non-existent master. “Ahh Ciel, you don’t seem to understand that you have little choice in the matter of participating. I’m doing you a courtesy, you see?” the devil told him nonchalantly, unfolding his large hands and presenting them to the clairvoyant fraud in a show of open, honest communication. “But in the interest of _fairness_ I suppose I can grant your wish should you miraculously win.” 

It was silent in the tent for a moment. Ciel sat there, staring at the hands of the apparition that had walked in and, in under three minutes, had changed the course of his life. If Ciel lost this little bet, his life could be over, and most likely would be over based on the almost ravenous expression on the human facade before him. If he won, he would know what it was like to really see the future, and yet he didn’t even know if he was actually ready for such a gift; he’d spent so long just faking it. What would it mean for Ciel Phantomhive’s experience as a human being? How would it change the way he lived his life? 

Then again, there was no guarantee that if he won this creature would abide by their agreement; Ciel could end up dead either way. An existential cloud of dread descended upon him, causing the back of his eyes to prickle with tears as he thought about losing everything. It wasn’t a glamorous life he lived, but it was still his, and Ciel was reluctant to give it up just yet.

“Okay then,” he said, renewed determination hardening his features, “it’s a deal.” When Ciel felt the tendrils at his arms and torso loosen, he reached up and lifted the black silk patch he wore off his left eye, figuring there was no more need for theatrics. He leaned across the table and met the creature’s ruby gaze. “So, can I ask my first question now?” 

“Of course,” the demon allowed, leaning back in his chair and calling off the diabolic coils from the human. The last one thread itself along the silk string adhered to Ciel’s head and with a whisper it slid against the boy’s soft hair and was delivered into the demon’s open hands. A rumble deep in his chest shook the air around them as he brought the eyepatch to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent of ambition. “Mmm… very well, but it counts as a hint.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ciel scowled as he watched the creature indulge momentarily in his essence. It was probably smart to just ignore it, so he simply nodded and steepled his fingers before his face, gently tapping his index fingers to his lips as he thought. He recalled with a chill what his visitor had said earlier, “ _I will have you, but not the way I did your companions_.” He couldn’t help but wonder, What had he done to them? Which of Ciel’s family members had fallen prey to this monster’s wiles? What did it gain from toying with these human lives? 

Ciel cursed to himself. Only two questions, with his very life on the line. He had to learn as much as he could in those simple inquiries. Maybe it was a good thing that he had only been given an hour; otherwise he could sit and stew on this quandary for days. In this line of work, Ciel had learned to go with his gut and trust his instincts, and he decided to ask the very first question that came to his mind, the one he found himself pondering over the second this being entered his tent. 

“We have twelve rides, three show arenas, and over forty-two tents,” he said. “I want to know what brought you to me, out of all of the other attractions on this lot.” 

“Not out of all the other attractions, dear boy; _after_ all the other attractions.” He waved his gloved hand lazily back and forth, dispelling the faint glamour he’d cast over the tent before entering. The haze moved downwards like a heavy fog, caressing and snapping at the demon’s feet like a possessive feline. Once free of the illusion, his prey would see him not in his true form, but at least with the evidence of his prior feasts on his human facade: various shades of crimson staining his face, stringy bits of innards dangling from his teeth, flesh and brain matter scattered about his fluid-drenched hair and powdered bone dusted over his black ensemble. 

“Listen carefully,” he hissed, the sharp, forked tongue peeking out as he did, “can you hear anything?” It was quieter than death beyond the tent. No carousel music. No happy patrons shrieking from the nearby ride. No grinding and spinning machinery. Even the animals had been silenced. “I saved you for last, Ciel. To savour your demise. I despise your kind. You think you’re here by sheer coincidence, in a fortune teller’s tent? Just because your gift is weak, does not mean it is non-existent. Your mother bore a witch. As did her mother, and her mother’s mother and all the way back eleven generations.” 

A renewed fear struck Ciel to his core, but he merely nodded, trying to appear disinterested even though his heart was racing and every nerve in his body was screaming and all he wanted was to just run as far away from this grotesque manifestation as possible. The tendrils licking at his sandals reminded him escape was impossible, though his mind was free to wander even if he could not. 

Who was it that was splattered across this loathsome beast’s face and shirt? Did it hurt? Did anyone hear them screaming? Was the same fate destined to befall him should he fail? 

No, failure could not be an option. Think, Ciel -- think! Twelve years ago, he had his first premonition, and his mother was ecstatic. The gift ran in the family, she said, confirming the monster’s claim. To despise “his kind,” follow them for eleven generations... Ciel wondered how long this creature had been stalking the earth, what it had been doing all that time. He suspected that even as a demon or a ghost or a mythical beast, you don’t tramp around the planet for four hundred years without making any waves. 

“What --” he began, his voice cracking as he watched the long dark tongue slip out and curl almost lovingly around a fleck of mottled bone stuck beneath the creature’s eye. “What is something that you’re proud of? Something you’ve done in your lifetime that you actually take pride in.” 

 

The demon’s tongue lapped at the bone twice then flicked it into the air above his head. Chin tilting back, his jaw dislocated, and when he opened wide to catch the little morsel in his jagged, gaping maw, the flesh at the corners of his lips tore with a most sickening sound all the way to his ears. He chewed the rigid tissue, crunching it between his teeth, his piercing red eyes never leaving Ciel. When he finished he licked his lips, reverted to his human guise and appraised the boy piously. 

When he spoke again, his words were thickly accented with a French that was refined and his verbiage took on an old-fashioned cadence. “I took pride in my work, Ciel, as did my brothers of the Dominican Order. We purged the earth of your kin, one burning at a time.” A sneer threatening to become a snarl painted the otherwise handsome countenance and when he pressed on, he was agitated, resorting to rambling quickly in his mother tongue. “Mais vous étiez trop nombreux! Câlisse ! Vous vous êtes même répandu aux couvents!” He slammed his fist onto the table and a fissure ripped through the center. “Inviting them into your body, to take possession of you. One by one, I tore them violently from their hosts until the day I met your distant relation. She was a slattern of a nun. Madeleine Demandols had within her person 6, 660 devils and I rid her of each and every single one. Impressive, no? Should I not be canonized? Heralded a saint at the very least? Have I not sacrificed? After all, those devils had to go _somewhere_ , and whom better to handle such a burden than the high inquisitor himself?”

The demon let silence fall between them, and smirked. “I hope you had a righteous upbringing boy, otherwise, you’d have never heard of my _admirable story_.

Even though the creature had revealed more than Ciel could have ever hoped for, his stomach was still roiling. The heat was not helping. He watched, aghast, as this heinous face changed into the epitome of handsome right before his eyes, though Ciel still refused to call the individual in his tent a “man.” No amount of finery or foppery could cover up its true, diabolical nature. 

But Ciel was relieved, even after all that. The thing itself had admitted its exploits had been documented; now it was simply a matter of finding them. He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Passionate about your work, huh? You seem a bit on edge though… Perhaps your story wasn’t as admirably detailed as you thought. Anyway, how much time do I have left to give my answer?” Ciel asked as he dug under his sweaty robes for his cell phone, pretending to check the time.

The demon smiled. It was a taunting, mocking grin; he took delight in the boy’s impending downfall. The devil let his warm breath permeate the room, causing sweat to drip from Ciel’s pores and condensation to build up on the canvas walls of the tent. He preferred his meals warm and swimming in their own juices. “How adorable, are your hands in prayer under the table? Is that why your lips are moving? Prayer won't help you, witch. You have thirty minutes now.”

Ciel didn’t even seem to hear the creature as his brow furrowed in concentration. Prayer was the furthest thing from his mind; who needed divine intervention when the wealth of the world’s knowledge was at your fingertips? The connection was a little spotty out in the boonies, but Ciel managed to open up a Google tab and type in the name of the woman the creature had claimed to have exorcised, though he butchered the spelling once or twice. 

Soon enough, the search engine began spitting out results that seemed relevant to his query —demonic possession and exorcisms in early France; “Possession, Heresay, and the Devil’s Mark;” a handbook of witchcraft in early Europe. He stumbled upon a Wikipedia page on Aix-en-Provence possessions, which was much easier to peruse than the other scholarly peer-reviewed articles, and after a bit of scrolling and speed-reading, managed to locate the words _High Inquisitor_ , and a name. 

Ciel clicked through on the link and read on: French inquisitor and prior of the Dominican Order, whatever that was, and a book titled “Histoire admirable de la possession et conversion d’une penitente.” Though Ciel spoke no French, he knew it when he heard it, and he could easily surmise the book was an _admirable history_ of something. It wasn’t important what. 

Ciel had won. 

Triumphantly, he raised his head to face the demon. 

“Exorcising six thousand demons hasn’t done you much good has it, Mr. High Inquisitor?” He said cheekily. “When they were pushed out, they needed a place to go, right? And they took to you; they made you one of them. It’s a little ironic, isn’t it, if not completely fitting.” Ciel looked almost sympathetic as he put away his phone, frowning a little at this crazed devil’s situation. The man was a monster in life and in death; he was responsible for the deaths of at least fourteen women. One of them could have been Ciel’s ancestor. 

“I told you I don’t like to lose,” Ciel said. “Your name is Sebastian Michaelis.”

Sebastian stood and before Ciel finished blinking, he was hovering over him. A sharp coil of black crawled along Ciel’s legs, frisking him until it came upon something hard in his right pocket. From its depths it removed a slim, rectangular piece of metal and the demon eyed it with a mixture of disdain and contempt. “Technology. How unfortunate for me,” he commented, as his shadowy extension slammed the device hard against the solid earth, then taking on a spiked boot appearance, crushed it repeatedly under its heel.The tendrils that had been docile until now broke free of their restraint and wrapped around Ciel’s body again. Sebastian sighed exasperatedly, crimson eyes glinting with mischief, “But a deal is a deal,” and he bent at the waist and kissed the space where Ciel’s Third Eye might have been had he been as gifted as his ancestors.

A shimmering black cloud swept inward from the demon’s lips, coursing through Ciel’s head and down to each of his limbs. It was like dark, foamy sea water, warmed from the sun as it poured through Ciel’s soul. It didn’t hurt, but it sort of tickled, like an infuriating itch Ciel couldn’t scratch. He gasped, a deep heaving breath, and when he closed his eyes, he could see himself. 

It was a vision, a glimpse into the future. He was older, his hair shocked with gray and wrinkles tugging on the lines of his face. The setting was unfamiliar, but it felt like home to the Ciel in his vision. And then it suddenly didn’t feel like home as a burglar came through his kitchen and the two met eyes. The young culprit was not expecting anyone to be home, and in a fit of fear and surprise, bludgeoned Ciel to death on his living room floor. 

Even when he opened his eyes, Ciel’s mind was flooded with the sight of himself, like a recent memory -- his blood leaking out across the ground, expect now he was in the middle of a busy street, and a frantic truck driver was hovering over the lifeless body he had just slammed with his semi. He blinked, and the vision changed again, though it still featured Ciel, leaping willingly to his own death from the top floor of his apartment building. 

Heart attack, cancer, a mugging, an overdose, a car crash. Ciel watched himself die a hundred different ways in the span of three minutes, and the overwhelming realness of each vision had him crumpling to his knees, squeezing his temples and shouting to cover up the sound of his own screams. 

Sebastian carded Ciel’s sweat-damped locks with his claws, pulling painfully through the knotted snarls at the top of his head in what he thought was an affectionate gesture. “Poor dear, it hurts doesn’t it?” Some of his tendrils forced the boy’s head back so that Sebastian could bore into his eyes, while others soaked up his sweat and tears and brought them to the devil’s mouth to sample the boy’s flavour. He very much liked what he tasted. “Would you like me to end it, Ciel?” 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Ciel cried. Blood stained his fingertips as he clung to the demon, whimpering as he watched himself again take his own life, violently, a sharp razor blade across his wrists in a bathtub. Then it was his wife, a gun pointed at the back of his head. He watched his children pull the plug and cancel his life support, leaving him to die, old and alone in a hospital bed. 

“Make it stop,” he begged. 

A sinister smile stretched the devil’s face, and his human facade melted before the boy. He licked his razored teeth and bowed over his small frame, “As you wish.”


End file.
